To Be Enough
by Dreamhare
Summary: She had asked him to do this, had begged him to break his heart and her own to save their lives. Oh, Maker, was she so selfish for sacrificing duty and honor for her own heart? Alistair/F!Cousland
1. To Be Enough

There was the disconcerting and entirely burning feeling of her heart leaping to her throat and staying there.

Her eyes were burning with unshed tears as her emerald gaze stared listlessly into the roaring fire. Her thoughts were running rampant, but nothing made sense. This had been her decision, right? She had asked him to do this, had begged him to break his heart and her own to save their lives. Oh, Maker, was she so selfish for sacrificing duty and honor for her own heart? The lump in her throat only made her choke back harder on the tears and the sob threatening to wrench from her lips. Her slender frame began to tremble-_andohMakermakeitstop_! She wondered what the two of them were doing, and whether he was enjoying it at all. The madness of the vivid thoughts were nearly causing her to erupt into hysterical giggles.

Her faithful mabari whimpered at the first sounds of her gasping tears and barely held sobs. His mistress had been beside herself for the past hour, and nothing he did could seem to calm her in the least. Her fingers were digging into her calloused palms, forming little half crescents that barely registered as painful in her mind. To imagine Morrigan with _her _Alistair was almost too much to bear, but she had been the one to ask him! Her pride and jealousies had been swallowed with the overwhelming terror at the knowledge Riordan had imparted upon them. Death and sorrow and so little hope of the dreams she had clutched close to her heart: of marrying the King of her heart and surviving the coming battle in the dawn. Had she not given enough to Ferelden?

An unbearable sob escaped her, and suddenly she was grasped with a terrible anger and sorrow that built within her breast. The fiery dread that had her standing in an instant, her blood boiling and pulse racing in her ears as she paced. Was it so wrong of her to be angry at Alistair and at herself? For her damned weakness in wanting to live, in wanting to cast away her damned Cousland pride for one moment? A Cousland always does her duty, but she had given so, so much in the past year, and now she was supposed to give up the one person who had stitched her bloody heart back together? The one person who had kept her from falling over the edge of insanity? Who had held her when the nightmares of the massacre of Highever became too much? Who knew her as no one did, and did not flinch from her blistering temper, her sarcastic words, or her overwhelming pride?

Ophelia stood there in that moment, trembling in rage as her anger soon shifted onto the dark haired temptress she had dared to call a friend. This had been Morrigan's plan since the very moment of their meeting in the Wilds, and she dared to offer this-_whatever it was-_as a means to save her? Frustrated tears burned at her eyes, and in that moment Ophelia almost wished to throw herself into the flames. To have the fire burn at her and to take away the boiling anger that filled her to the brim, and to turn into ash. In the next moment Ophelia realized she had tossed one of the wooden chairs against the wall, and all she saw was splintered remains as the proof of her rage. Fenrir was by her side in a moment, and pressed his cold nose against her bare leg, and all of the angry energy evaporated from her trembling frame in an instant. She dropped onto the hard, stone floor and threw herself at the one being who had yet to betray her. Even her own heart had turned traitor, and all she could do was sob into his black coat as Fenrir licked at her cheeks in an attempt to chase her tears away.

"I never wanted this. I never wanted to be a Warden, never wanted to fall in love, a-and now I have to be a hero, Fenrir. Always a Cousland, a Warden, but what about _me_? I just want him with me, not with _her_," she whispered just a little brokenly. Her voice was ragged and raw from her sobs, and Ophelia did not know how long she sat there, clinging to her mabari. All she knew that soon strong hands were gripping her, and Fenrir's place has been taken by one of the very people causing her pain. Blindly, she reached for him, because, by the Maker, she needed him so, so much. More than should be possible, but all she wanted was for him to _live. _Ophelia had been the dutiful daughter for all of her life, but this was the one thing she could not allow to slip from her. Everything else had been taken from her, but she'll be damned if Ferelden claims one more piece. There were no words to be said, and she merely stared up at his haunted hazel eyes. She realized that she was not the only one to feel the jagged edge of their shared pain, and so she curled around the King of her heart as he carried them to their shared bed.

Because in the morning, she prays, she will be strong enough for the both of them.

* * *

**A/N: **Um, yeah, I have not written a fan fiction in years, but I had to write something for myself and for my Cousland. I have been reading some truly beautiful stories as of late, and I wanted to add something of my own to the fandom. I know this scene has been written before, and even in a similar manner, but this is _mine. My tale, my thoughts, and my Warden that has become such a part of my imagination that it is scary. I hope you enjoyed it, and if not that is fine. Feel free to review, and I welcome any constructive criticism, while flames are used to heat my hot chocolate. _

_My sincere thanks to my friend Rwaht for betaing my work even in the middle of the night. -smiles-_


	2. To Feel Enough

Her heart was performing the curious feat of skipping _several _beats.

What in the world was Alistair doing? The last few moments had been an absolute blur, and all she could remember was talking with Leliana about some Orlesian fashions her mother had tried to force upon her, and laughing at the all too bittersweet memories of her family. All of a sudden Alistair had come _swooping _down upon the two of them-all bluster and absolute sweetness. How in the world could she say no to anything when he looked at her with those helpless eyes of his? The bard had giggled quite obviously at Alistair's stuttered question of seeing Ophelia alone, and all she had given in response was a half hearted glare at her friend-no, _sister. _That was what the bard was to her now, and Ophelia realized that her thoughts were muddling with what she should be paying attention to now.

Where was her Cousland pride when she needed it? All it took for her confidence to be swept away was one glance of those hazel eyes of his. It was not fair, and Ophelia was at a loss at Alistair began to stutter his way through why he wanted her alone. It certainly seemed that some of her lost confidence was being stolen by him as he gained momentum for his confession. Wait, _confession_? Emerald eyes glanced back down at the vivid rose in her hand, and she realized that her usually steady hands were shaking just slightly. Oh, Maker, she had been reduced to an emotional mess by Alistair of all people! This awkward, bumbling, absolutely sweet hulk of a man was presenting her with something so precious and timid that it almost made her want to weep. Ophelia did not deserve this, did not want this, but her traitor of a heart was already leaping at the prospect of her budding feelings being returned.

"Y-your new weapon of choice?" she answered at last, trying to sound confident- though her stutter ruined that illusion in an instant.

"Yes, that's right! Watch as I thrash our enemies with the mighty powers of floral arrangements! Feel my thorns, darkspawn, as I overpower you with my rosy scent!" Alistair uttered, dramatically sweeping his arm in a mock gesture of attack. Ophelia could not help the giggles that escaped her, but her breath soon caught at his next statement. "Or, you know, it could just be a rose. I know that's pretty dull in comparison," he admitted, an embarrassed smile on his lips as he nervously scratched the back of his head.

Oh, Maker, was this truly happening?

Ophelia could feel the roaring of her heart in her ears, and she nervously thumbed one of the petals of the flower in an attempt to distract herself. This was too much, too fast, but she _wanted _it in such a way that it scared her. She swallowed against her heart in her throat, "Sentiment can be a pretty potent weapon." Her eyes raised to search his carefully, and she could see the nervous trepidation in his own eyes. Alistair was at a loss as much as she, but she could feel the complete confidence of his intent. With his heart laid bare before her, she felt guilt creep into her stomach for doubting him. Oh, how the almighty Ophelia Cousland had fallen, right?

"Heh, is it that easy to see right through me? I guess I shouldn't be surprised," Alistair replied with a chuckle, eyes crinkling in the way that she adored so much. "I picked it in Lothering. I just remember thinking, 'How could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness?' I probably should have left it alone, but I just couldn't. The darkspawn would have come, and their taint would just destroy it, so I've had it ever since," he said, carefully gauging her reaction. His smile was so sweet, so hesitant, and so earnest in his desire to find a way into her already fractured heart.

Ophelia knew in that instant she did not deserve someone like Alistair. She was so arrogant and proud, and she had always known that her tongue was sharp enough to cut up any man into bloody splinters. He took her rage, responded to her hot temper with his own, and soothed away the burning blisters with hesitant smiles and careful touches. She realized her hands were trembling further, and it took a conscious will to steady herself somewhat. This man was going to be the death of her, but it would be such a pleasant death that perhaps she would not mind. Right, deep breath. Inhale. Exhale.

"A-and what did you intend to do with it?" she asked cautiously, so eager and dreading his answer.

"I thought I might…give it to you, actually," Alistair began, grinning nervously. The gesture just melted her heart even as a pleasant warmth spread throughout her body. "In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you," he finished, expression morphing into a much more serious one.

Oh, Andraste's Grace, he was completely and utterly sincere about his intentions toward her, Ophelia had no clue what to do. She had always been in control of any suitors that attempted to sway her heart toward them. No, she was not experienced in matters of the heart, but she had never felt anything for the broken hearts she left behind her when she grew exasperated with them. This was different. _Alistair _was different from all of them, and all she could do was flounder in the face of these dawning emotions she had never given much thought to.

"I-I do not know what to say," she admitted truthfully, looking up at him with wide green eyes. All of her wit was failing her, and she watched as he took a hesitant step toward her. Her heart did that funny little skipping pattern again, but Ophelia stayed where she was. That look in his eyes kept her still, and she could see the resolve in his stance that he would see this entire confession through. It was that determination that she admired so much, but the truth of his words was what had her falling for him even more.

"I know that this is probably a stupid gesture, but I just thought that here I am doing all of this complaining, and you haven't been having an easy time of it yourself, 'Lia," Alistair said, hesitantly extending his hand to rest against the side of her heated cheek, fingers slowly brushing the loose strand of her hair behind her ear. Ophelia trembled beneath his touch, at the utterance of his personal name for her. "You've had none of the good experiences of being a Warden, not a word of thanks or praise. It's all been death and fighting and tragedy," he whispered, hand pressing more firmly against her cheek. All she could think about was never wanting him to move away from her.

"I-I just thought I could say something. To tell you what a rare and wonderful person you are to find amidst all this…darkness," Alistair trailed off, glancing down at her with all of the care and love she had never expected to yearn for in his eyes. Ophelia wanted to say something witty, to respond to his confession with a wicked smile and lewd comment, but she could not. Unexpected tears were pricking at her eyes, and she brought the rose closer to her heart. His hand was steady and comforting against her cheek, and she leaned into the gentle touch.

"I-this is-oh, Alistair, just kiss me, _please_," Ophelia begged. She could not find the words to voice how she felt. All she wished was to feel his lips upon hers. She heard his breath catch, and soon both of his hands were cupping her cheeks as he tilted her head up. There was so much hesitancy and desire in his hazel eyes that mirrored her own, and she closed her eyes as he slowly pressed his lips to hers. Her heart began to flutter, and the aching sweetness of the gesture swept her away. Alistair's kiss became more firm and confident, and soon all she felt were his arms pulling her against his larger frame as he drank from her like a dying man.

A whimper escaped her, and Ophelia merely tried to meet with his urgency as her free arm wrapped around his broad shoulders. This was so unlike her, but the strength of the kiss left her swaying, leaning against him fully for support. Her shield, her heart, her Alistair. Was this love? What her parents had held for so many years? How Fergus had gazed with upon Oriana? It was, it had to be, and soon she was drowning in him as her lungs begged for air. All too soon she pulled from the kiss to catch her breath, her cheeks flushed as she uttered a breathless laugh.

"Huh, I should have given the rose to you sooner if I knew this would happen," Alistair said with a cheeky grin, gazing at her with utter adoration that had her heart aching.

"You are utterly incorrigible, you brute," she replied with a smile.

"Only for you, 'Lia. Only for you."

* * *

**A/N: Yeah, I know I put the status as complete, but perhaps I will keep this as a collection of oneshots instead. Any length I can think to write, and whatever ideas that Ophelia will not doubt plant into my head. I hope you enjoyed it and my own little spin on it toward the end. Reviews are wonderful, and flames are used to heat my hot chocolate~**


	3. I Always Will

_I wish you'd hold me when I turn my back,_

_The less I give the more I get back._

She was so frustrated with the tears that burned her eyes.

Ophelia had the horrible habit of crying when she was truly angry, and now was one of those times. It was horribly _embarrassing_, and the idea of anyone seeing such weakness from her only had the tears forming more quickly. Deep breaths, right? Her lungs were not getting enough air, and she realized that she was very nearly on the verge of _crying_. She was so angry and hurt that Alistair had kept this from her. Had the former templar been so blind to the consequences of his actions? A heavy exhale left her lips, and she sagged onto the edge of her bed as she tried to regain control of her unbidden emotions. She ran a hand through her tussled brunette hair, wanting nothing more than to curl up upon her bed and forget the rush this day had been. Mages, lyrium, desire demons…all of it could wait until next week.

They had all been so hard pressed on saving Redcliffe, Connor, Eamon, and the villagers. There had been no time to think, feel, or _anything_. Days of fighting and traveling back and forth to stop the consequences one woman's selfish desires had wrought. Her lips curled in distaste at the thought of Arlessa Isolde, but Ophelia understood the desire to go to any lengths to save those one loved. Hopefully the woman had learned her lesson, and there would be no such tragedies befalling Redcliffe again. Now that this immediate emergency had passed, Ophelia had time to recall what had been revealed to her.

Alistair.

The son of King Maric.

Heir to the throne.

That damnable fool! A scowl settled onto her lips, and soon she felt her anger and frustration rear once more. Did he honestly believe he could run away from his duties? He may not want to be King, but did he honestly believe the nobles would place Arl Eamon on the throne? He knew so little of politics, and his ignorance to everything around him grated so much upon her nerves. She had ignored her fellow Warden at dinner, ignoring any sympathies that would rise when he had attempted to catch her attention throughout the evening. Deep down she knew she should talk with Alistair about it, but she was too stubborn. He could attempt to hide from his blood all he wanted, but it would never leave him. A Cousland always did her duty, and Alistair would have to learn that about his Theirin blood as well.

A hesitant knock upon her door interrupted her thoughts; Ophelia started at the sudden noise. She furiously began to wipe her eyes to erase the evidence of her frustration, knowing she would rather die than have anyone see her tears. As if such a gesture would matter; she knew her eyes would be a vibrant red. Holding back a frustrated sigh, Ophelia pushed herself into a standing position as she stalked toward the door. A part of her wanted to leave Alistair out there to fidget. A shame that she could not avoid this encounter for a while longer. Grasping the handle of the door, she wrenched it open to find the anxious Warden looking anywhere but at her. Her green eyes narrowed into a glare, and she placed her free hand on her hip. "What do you want, Alistair?"

Alistair nearly flinched at her hostile tone, finally letting his gaze rest upon the shorter woman. Honestly, he had little idea how someone so fragile looking could be so intimidating, but a part of him was angered that she was acting so cold toward him. Yes, he should have told Ophelia from the start about his heritage; although, this was the exact reason he had not done so in the first place! Anyone that knew would act so distant towards him, then would treat him like the bastard he was. He _hated _it. Swallowing against his own temper, he tried to stay calm to placate her. She had a right to be angry, and he could not really blame her for that. "Look, uh, I just wanted to talk about what I told you. You know, the whole prince thing," he started, wincing at how tactless he sounded.

Ophelia tensed at his words, but she moved to the side to allow Alistair in. Her anger burned like acid in her mouth, and she closed the door roughly behind her as soon as he had entered. No one needed to hear the words that would soon be exchanged between them. She felt angry, frustrated, and betrayed. There should be no secrets between them! Ophelia had been honest with Alistair the moment she had met him, even when her heart had still been raw and bleeding from the recent massacre of her family and the only world she had ever known. She had left not one sordid detail out of the traumatic event. Alistair had listened to her with complete understanding and acceptance. They had no one else to depend on, and yet he had waited weeks to tell her that he was the second son to Maric. What was she to think? "Really now? You seemed so adamant on not sharing this with me before. Why now, my prince?" she asked.

Alistair did flinch this time, but his attempt at control snapped at the biting sarcasm in her tone. "Because I knew you would react like this! Everyone does, Ophelia! Because obviously what I want is for everyone to think of me as the 'bastard prince!'" he shouted, hands curling into a fists as his temper flared. Damn her! Did she think that he had kept his secret for fun? That he enjoyed seeing his only friend angry and spiteful at him? He watched as her lips settled into a frown, and her emerald eyes narrowed into slits. "You are so stubborn, you know that? Can you think of anyone but yourself for a second? I only told you, because I thought you would understand of all people!" Alistair really wanted to shake some sense into her, to look past her own thoughts and try to understand his reasoning.

A derisive laugh was his response as she stalked across the room toward him.

"You think I am selfish? That I think only of myself and no one else? You know nothing! I am a Cousland, and I have always placed duty before what I want," she hissed. He stepped back at the sudden rage in her eyes, and for a moment he felt guilt at his poorly chosen words. Alistair opened his mouth to apologize, but Ophelia would not be stopped. "Do you think I wished to become a Grey Warden? That I left my parents to die without so much as a second thought? I gave up _everything_, because that was the last wish of my father! I left them to die at the hands of that traitorous bastard, became a Grey Warden out of duty, and now I am trying my best to lead us all to stop the Blight while you cower from your own duty!" Ophelia shouted, raising her face toward his. He could suddenly see how red her eyes were.

"Maker, Ophelia, I shouldn't have said that! But do you think I wanted this? That I _want _to be Maric's son? I've been treated like dirt because of my blood, and I thought that maybe you would be the one person not to judge me for it," he argued, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. Damn, stubborn woman! Alistair ran a hand through his hair, glaring down at her as his temper began to rise again. "No one ever gave me the time of day after Eamon sent me to the Chantry. Everyone made it perfectly clear that I was not an heir to the throne, and no one cared about how miserable and lonely I was. So I apologize if I don't take my so-called duty seriously. Not everyone was as lucky as you to have a loving family! All I had was Duncan, and now he's dead," Alistair finished harshly, a ragged pain tearing at the edge of his voice.

Ophelia deflated at his words, her anger suddenly dissolving as his pained words registered in her mind. She hid her face behind her palms, trying to hide from Alistair's somber stare as she gathered herself. Of course she should have realized that this was not really his fault. What was a child to think when constantly beaten down and told that he was nothing from the moment of his birth? That he was to aspire to nothing but what was told of him? She knew that Alistair would have to accept his birthright at some point in the future, but shoving displaced anger upon him was not the answer. A deep exhale escaped her, and slowly she glanced up at Alistair with a tired expression. "Alistair, forgive me. I had no right to say those things. I suppose I was more frustrated at the fact that you did not trust me enough to tell me earlier, but I understand why you did not," she apologized softly.

He inhaled sharply, his temper leaving him the moment she glanced up at him with those tearful eyes. Maker, she had no clue the way she affected him. A timid smile crossed his lips, and Alistair hesitantly reached to place his hand upon her arm in reassurance. "Hey, no need to be sorry. I'm the idiot that didn't tell you from the start, right?" he joked with a humorless laugh. He was surprised when she glared at him adamantly.

"You are _not _an idiot, Alistair. You are far kinder and honest than anyone I have ever met. Do not allow anyone to tell you otherwise," she replied vehemently. She placed her own hand over his that rested upon her arm.

A brilliant blush dusted his cheeks, and he scratched the back of his head a little nervously. Alistair was unused to anyone really complimenting him on anything, but it had his heart quickening just a little. It was, well, nice to hear. Especially from such a beautiful woman. "Right, thanks. I just hope I haven't messed things up between us. I haven't, right? Because I do trust you, 'Lia. I just wanted you to like me for who I am. Not because of who my father was," he admitted. It was a stupid thing to hope for; no one had really proven him wrong before. Perhaps Eamon, but even the Arl's care had been from a distance.

"I care about you, Alistair. Not because of who your father was, or because you are a prince. I have grown among nobility, and I know how dishonest and greedy they are," Ophelia began, her eyes darkening as she thought of Arl Howe. Shaking her head, she smiled gently at him, "You are so much more than you think. You are what the nobility should aspire to be, and it has nothing to do with your blood."

Her gaze was full of an open admiration that left Alistair both uneasy and excited. It was then that he realized how close they had become during the course of their argument. There was also the fact that Ophelia was wearing nothing but a robe that clung to her in ways he should _not _be thinking about. Right, back pedal and breathe. A nervous chuckle escaped him, and he took a step back from her. His hand slid from beneath hers, and he made some vague gesture toward the door. "Um, yeah, now that all of that has been cleared up, I think we should head to bed. You know…early start, darkspawn to kill, people to save…" he trailed off with another laugh. Oh, yeah, he was so bad at this. He nearly started at the sensation of soft lips pressing against his cheek, and soon Alistair was stopping himself from saying something that would ruin the moment.

A smile curved her lips at the slightly dazed look upon her fellow Warden, and she watched as he backed out of her room with a silly grin and a murmured 'good night.' Ophelia walked toward to her bed, collapsing upon the soft mattress much more content than when she had begun. She regretted losing her temper with Alistair in such a way, but perhaps they were better for it. Never had someone calmed her so quickly. She pushed away more intimate thoughts in light of sleep. The two of them had tomorrow.

Yes, tomorrow, and each day until the end. [Whenever that might be.]

_Oh, I don't love you, but I always will. _

_I always will…_

* * *

**A/N: **First of all, I want to thank all of my reviewers for their kind words and encouragement to keep writing these chapters. Thank you _FenZev_ for your reviews especially, because I am so happy that a writer like you has read my work and enjoyed it. I also want to thank _LicoriceEchidna, dizzaray, nh09jrb, Stina, _and _Neutral Ground_. This chapter was also written with nh09jrb's request in mind, because I did want to show more friction with their relationship, and I hope I did it justice before the hopeless romantic in me took over and had them make up. XD And a special thanks to _Neutral Ground for betaing my work, and not being afraid to take out the metaphorical red pen. I love you, and you are just awesome~!_

_The lyrics to this are from a song called Poison and Wine by The Civil Wars. I thought a few lines really fit, and it was what gave me inspiration to write this. They are awesome! _


	4. Haven't You Noticed?

"_Haven't you seen me sleepwalking, _

_'cause I've been holding your hand. _

_Haven't you noticed me drifting?_

_Oh, let me tell you I am."_

**Falling by The Civil Wars**

It felt like everything was slipping from her fingers once more.

A startled gasp escaped Ophelia as she rose from her bedroll in a panic. Her heart was racing erratically against her breast; her hand poised above her heaving chest as a cold sweat broke out across her body. She shuddered against the overly warm air in her tent, and yet her body felt so cold. Running a hand through her brunette hair, she knew she would not get back to sleep anytime soon. Well, perhaps more like a nightmare with what had roused her from her restless sleep. The dreams of the whispering voice of the Archdemon were more than enough to contend with, yet the nightmares of another dreaded night were the worst among her dreams. Ophelia could still feel the overbearing heat of the flames, the screams of the servants. She could still remember the halls of her childhood home drenched in so much blood. Her stomach heaved as she recalled the imaginary scent, forcing her to brace herself against the ground as she waited for it to pass.

Ophelia wondered if she had screamed this time, hoping she had not. The idea of anyone bearing witness to her weakness only upset her stomach all the more. Dizziness met her as she rose from her hunched position, but she merely ignored it in favor of attempting to escape the stifling air of the tent. Pulling her tangled limbs from her bedroll, she hesitantly reached out to undo the tie closing her tent. It took a few tries, because her fingers were trembling. _'Weak. You are weak,'_ she thought spitefully. Forcing her hands to steady, she freed herself from her humid confines. Oh, Maker, please let it be Leliana on watch at the moment. Even Sten would be more welcome than who she had in mind. She would rather have stoic silence than sweet concern. Ophelia rubbed her eyes as they adjusted to the darkness, while all she could see were the dim embers of the dying campfire.

"'Lia? Why are you up? What's wrong?"

Ophelia mentally cursed her luck, dismayed that Alistair had to be the one to see her in such a state. Their relationship was already confusing enough to her, and she still found it hard for her to open herself up to her Warden. Falling in love had never been part of the plan. Green eyes moved to rest upon Alistair, who was gazing at her with worry and concern. None knew of the nightmares that plagued her. Why did the Maker have to show his bad sense of humor now? _Lie. _"Forgive me, Alistair. The air is too stifling to allow me much sleep. I just need some fresh air, then I shall go back to sleep," she answered, praying the darkness would conceal her from his scrutiny.

A disbelieving snort was her answer.

"Yes, because the sounds of your thrashing really convinced me of that. I'm not that gullible. Now tell me what's wrong, 'Lia," Alistair implored, moving himself from his perch to sit beside her tent.

She bit her bottom lip nervously, shaking her head at his question. It had been _months _since Highever had been attacked, yet she still dreamed of the night. Of course, she had told Alistair of the horrid events, but certainly not of the nightmares that would not leave her be. Weakness could not be afforded to her. Her entire entourage depended upon her to remain strong and stubborn. A Cousland was not meant to fall prey to the inner weakness of the mind. "I told you I merely need fresh air. I am quite fine," she snapped.

Alistair was too concerned to be annoyed with her biting tone, and he reached a hand out to brush against her cheek. Maker, Ophelia felt as cold as death! He angled himself more toward her slightly shivering frame, drawing the tensed woman against his side. He was pleasantly surprised that she did not fight the action, which meant she was more vulnerable than usual. Sure, the two of them had become closer since he had admitted his feelings, but he could tell that Ophelia still kept some guard up when around him. It was maddening much of the time. Perhaps Alistair could get her to open up to him now. "I _know_ that's a lie. Please tell me what's wrong. You can tell me anything, 'Lia," he whispered gently, reaching up his hand to stroke through her sweat dampened hair.

Ophelia did not want to tell him, but she could not deny Alistair anything. He could ask her to walk into the Black City, and she would do so without a thought. Maker, the man did not know what he did to her. His concerned words broke her resolve to remain stubborn, and the tears came unbidden. She angled herself toward his warm frame, clinging to him for all she was worth. The pain was still fresh in her mind, so it was not too difficult to recall the nightmare. "I-I dreamed of Highever. That night-the screams are the worst of it. I left them all to die, and I can hear my parents asking me why I left them. I-I should have died there with them, Alistair. I should have defended them to m-my last breath," she explained, her voice thick from her tears.

His hazel eyes widened at her words, his heart filling with a fierce protectiveness for the vulnerable female tucked against his side. "No, don't say that. Your parents wouldn't want that, and you know it. You mean so much to me, 'Lia. I can't imagine never having met you," he comforted, placing a gentle kiss against her brow. She meant so, so much to his heart. The thought of her dying at all haunted him, because he knew that he would be little better than an empty shell without her presence.

"Stay with me, Alistair? I-I do not want to sleep alone," she asked hesitantly. It was the first time she had ever asked him to her tent, and not quite in the way she thought. A choked laugh escaped her at the thought. No, certainly not like this.

Alistair did not even bat an eye at her slight hysterical laughter, merely brushing his lips against her brow again. "Of course. I'll just get Leliana to take my place. I'll be back in a moment, love," he reassured, prodding her gently back toward her tent. He watched in concern as she slowly disappeared back into her tent, wishing more than anything he could take her nightmares from her. Shaking his head, he made his way toward Leliana's tent to start an early watch.

Ophelia sat within the confines of her humid tent, still feeling the chill of her dreams within her bones. It had yet to leave her. All she wanted was Alistair with her. It felt like forever until she heard him entering, and she moved over to make more room for his large frame. She watched as he discarded his sword and shield, along with the remnant of his armor he had kept on for watch. His gaze met her own, and he extended his hand to rest against her cheek. His concern and care broke something within her, and Ophelia was soon pressed flush against him as she kissed him with an upset fervor.

Alistair was taken aback as his fellow Warden latched onto him, but he did not turn her away as she kissed him. He knew that she needed his comfort, and so he carefully directed her frantic passion onto a gentler course. Maker knew how much her presence addled his mind, but this was not how he pictured coming to her. It would be wrong to take advantage of her. His hands slid through her hair and toward her waist, pulling her gently against him as he maneuvered the both of them to lie upon her bedroll. Pulling back from the kiss, he tucked her carefully beneath his arm. "Sssh, I'm not going anywhere, 'Lia," he promised.

Ophelia whimpered in response, curling against him as the warmth of his body chased the chill from her veins. The rhythmic motion of his hand through her hair was lulling her into a sense of security. Her heart and her shield. He was far too good for her, but she was going to be selfish just this once.

"I love you," she murmured sleepily.

Comforting blackness welcomed her; although, Alistair would remain awake for hours to come.

* * *

**A/N: **_Another small scene I got inspired to write. This was a bit more difficult, since it obviously did not happen in the game, but I hope to add more chapters from my head canon. Hope I got Alistair right without following scenes from the game. Thanks again to my wonderful beta~ XD_


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